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by UnderTheRedHood



Series: YJ appreciation month [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne sucks at being a dad sometimes, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd deceased, M/M, the first chapter is a canonical scene, the second chapter has unestablished birdflash, young justice appreciation month
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheRedHood/pseuds/UnderTheRedHood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jason's death, Dick just wants to go home; but maybe home isn't a place.</p><p>Written for Day 5 of YJAM: Angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> This is a semi-crossover because I wanted to write Jason's death from the YJ universe, but I took a canonical scene between Dick and Bruce for the first chapter. The second chapter is just YJ with unestablished birdflash. You could probably read it as just bros if you want, it's kind of up to interpretation.
> 
> Rated for swearing, as per usual.

Dick was on a team mission in Hong Kong when Jason died.

He didn’t hear about it until a week later.  Nightwing was going undercover-- there was supposed to be radio silence unless of a real emergency, and _apparently_ the death of your sibling isn’t one.  Barbara had to be the one to tell him (Bruce was off sulking-- not talking to anybody and Alfred was too busy with the funeral arrangements), and even she sucked at it.  Sensitivity is just not in the bats’ vocabularies, he guessed.  

“Dick, I-- I have to tell you something.”

“What’s up?” He had asked, taking a giant crunch through one of those fuji apples-- the first food he’d had in days.

“Jason’s _dead_.”

Dick hadn’t known what to say.  He hadn’t known what to say when he watched his parents’ bodies break against the ground when he was eight years old, and he didn’t know what to say as he felt his heart run cold at the news of his kid brother’s death nine years later.

By the time he could come home again (he still had to sit through a plane ride and the mission debriefing), Jason’s funeral was over.  Dick knew it was unrealistic to think they would wait for him but jesus christ, _why didn’t they wait for him?_

There was to be no complaining-- because of course ‘nothing’s more important than the mission, Dick.’  Nobody had actually said that but it was heavily implied.  He had sat there motionless, wordless, ready to feel his own bones break.  He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be home-- and not at Wayne Manor; he wanted to be back at the circus, and still a kid again, and not here in the cold metal chairs listening to people drone on when his brother was being buried 6 feet under the ground in the mud and worms and soil.

To make it all worse-- _Bruce was mad at him_.  Bruce-- the one who’d been there, who could’ve stopped it, who made Jason Robin in the first place-- blamed Dick for some unknown bullshit list of reasons that only he could fully understand.

Suddenly they were fighting just like old times-- just like before Jason.  When it was like this-- when Dick was around Bruce, it was like he couldn’t think straight.  He couldn’t cool down enough to come up with a solution: it was just them against each other.  Father and son.  Dysfunction at it’s finest.

“Come on, Bruce-- talk,” Dick had tried to say, “don’t turn your back on me.  I’m here…” he paused, thinking of the last week-- of how he didn’t get to say goodbye, “now.”

Bruce was slow about unbuckling the utility belt, still unable to look Dick in the eye, “you were lucky.”

 _Danger, danger_.  Instantly, Dick knew this was going to be a fight.  And jeez-- he was tired and he didn’t want to and he just wanted to sink into the chair like he was small again and listen to the near-silent movements of Bruce as he trained.

“When you didn’t listen to me, your injuries weren’t fatal.  Of course, by the time I properly trained you--”

“Bruce, c’mon...  Layoff.  I’m not here to fight,” Dick tried to say, easing his voice so it sounded smooth and gentle and not like it was hoarse from crying.

Bruce spun around, cowl-less, “then _don’t_!”

Fine!  If Bruce wanted a fight-- Dick would give it to him.

“Are you blaming me?  I left, so Jason replaced me, and because I left he died?   _No way, pal._ ”  Bruce still wasn’t looking at him-- an angry, dangerous scowl buried in his hard blue eyes.  “Jason wasn’t me.  I was a _trained_ acrobat.  I could think quickly in perilous situations!  But why did you let _him_ become Robin before he was ready?!?”

“DON’T YOU DARE BLAME ME FOR JASON’S DEATH!  DON’T YOU DARE!”  

When Bruce swung at him, Dick probably should’ve seen it coming.  This was so typical.  Just lashing out instead of dealing with his guilt-- lashing out at _Dick_.

Still, he was hit hard.  He fell onto the floor, holding his arm to his lip and looking up at his mentor-- his father who had went from dangerous to full out raging.

“Why did I think I needed a partner?  They _slow you down_.  They make you worry about _them_ rather than doing your job!  He wouldn’t listen!  He wanted to do everything his way.   _He was JUST LIKE YOU!_ ”

 _Ouch_.  In that moment, Dick understood.  Bruce blamed himself.

Eventually, Bruce stormed out, telling Dick to leave his keys with Alfred.  Was his father kicking him out?  Again?

Fuck.  There was no way he was doing that.  He wanted to go home alright-- and this was the closest thing to it.  The closest thing he had to Jason.

He bit his knuckles, _oh god.  Jason..._


End file.
